


Better than ice cream

by alunsina



Series: exo fills & challenges [2]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Childhood Friends, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2019-02-27 05:06:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13241055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alunsina/pseuds/alunsina
Summary: Childhood friends meet again.





	Better than ice cream

Sehun’s third girlfriend breaks up with him a week before the end of summer.  
  
Sehun-ah, the text begins, just like every other text he receives from her, just like the time she confessed to him because she’s always been a little bit awkward with saying her feelings to his face: it’s not working, is it? It’s followed by two more texts saying she was sorry, and then something about feeling more alone when she was with him, and Sehun ends up scrolling through without seeing the words because he can’t understand them. Because how? He shuts off his phone and drops off to sleep like a log for the next two days.   
  
In his sleep he dreams about being five again, not having to deal with this kind of shit.  
  
/  
  
“The hair’s livelier today. Are you back to the land of the living?” Sehun’s mom is fixing him a packed lunch in the kitchen, which is both a surprising and terrifying concept. He quickly checks himself in the mirror again: school coat, tie, rainbow hair, his blank face. Well, nothing to suggest he needed extra coddling.   
  
“First day of the new school year.” Still he accepts the warm package like a dutiful son and stops himself from making a face at it like it’s a dying cockroach or something.  
  
“It’s not poisoned.”  
  
“No, no- It’s-“ Sehun sighs. “Thank you.” His mother laughs and walks him to the door like he’s a kindergartner instead of a tall and gangly highschooler, or maybe she is that excited to see him out of the house for the first time in weeks.  
  
“Study hard, okay? And come straight back home. We’ll be having the Kims over for dinner.”  
  
“Okay.” They know over five Kims in the neighbourhood, all close family friends. Better to sort that out later before he becomes late for school. “I’ll be going.”  
  
He leaves his mother on the doorway, still bouncing on her toes.   
  
/  
  
When Sehun was five he didn’t have to deal with noona girlfriends, sudden break-ups over text, of ever being called cold or uncaring or of not giving a fuck about anything at all.   
  
He dealt with bullies, getting mud up his nose, not having a breath for words because he had the air knocked out of him. He couldn’t speak up in class, not one peep even when he’d peed in his pants because he was embarrassed and humiliated and was scared of the teacher.   
  
But he had a hyung protecting him back then, this big hyung who’d kick back the bullies in the face for terrorizing him, who could take one look at him and tell that something had gone terribly wrong (stolen pocket money, soiled pants, losing his favorite pencil).  
  
“Sehunnie, stop crying. Hyung will figure it out with you. But you have to tell me what’s wrong.” He would say, his big round face squished in concern, squeezing his shoulders and holding one of his hands tightly. (Five-year-old Sehun was definitely not crying. Probably just something in his tiny eyes.)  
  
“Hyung will even share his ice cream with you. So calm down, okay?” And it was nice because ice cream solved everything, and they would play football outside until sunset, and sometimes they would sleep over at each other’s houses, telling each other ghost stories with the lights off, crouched under the sheets.  
  
It would be nice to see that hyung again. Maybe free ice cream would make him feel better.  
  
/  
  
It’s a good thing Sehun left half an hour earlier than usual because the subway is crowded in a way he hadn’t expected. He spends the first few couple of stops squished against the glass, glaring at people, and watching this short guy with the awfully funny pained expression on his face. When said shortie, a fellow high schooler he guesses, almost smashes his head against the hard metal pole, Sehun intervenes and tugs him out of the way in a rare fit of charity. He is thanked profusely, with a little bow even, that Sehun ignores; he doesn’t feel that much older but the urge to pat the guy’s head and pinch his round cheeks is a little overwhelming.  
  
“Excuse me, are you hurt somewhere or-?” The same guy asks later when Sehun blinks his eyes a little too fast at a lipstick ad at the next stop. (He bought her make-up by saving up a month’s worth of his allowance. How the fuck did she think he was ignoring her?) He turns to tell him off to mind his own business but his face is dripping wet, his face is leaking what the hell, and there’s nothing more embarrassing than having a nervous breakdown in the middle of the rush hour crowd, in front of a kid who’s probably judging him.  
  
“Uh.”  
  
“Ah! Tissue, tissue, tissue.” The guy searches through his pockets and under Sehun’s blank stare produces a small pack of tissue he promptly hands over. “It’s a little- Wait I’ll find more.“   
  
He goes through his bag. He’s not wearing a uniform, just some white sweater shirt with too long sleeves reaching past his knuckles, the strap of his messenger bag dark black across his chest. Sehun has half a mind to yell at him to keep his tissues before he’s handed a whole wad of them.  
  
“That’s probably enough.” The guy says, relieved, now that the leaky face situation seems to be under control. Sehun has stopped to stare at him anyway. He has big round eyes. Pretty, for a guy. “You’re not really injured are you? I could take you to the hospital. It’s the least I could do-“   
  
“I’m getting off at the next stop.” Sehun says since he is. He does. And when the guy trails after him onto the platform, Sehun clarifies: “I’m not hurt but thank you for the offer.”  
  
“This is my stop too. It’s good though that you’re okay.” Sehun gets a smile in return, and now Sehun’s even more embarrassed if that’s possible. The poor pale kid (?) is sweating his ass off in the hot humid platform, and Sehun should really give back some of those tissues.  
  
“Tissue.” He offers. Articulate, he is not.   
  
“Yeah. It’s for your face.” The guy makes a wiping motion of his own high forehead, and then he seems to have noticed the thing on his wrist (a watch, maybe an alien device) and his eyes go wide and adorable. “I really should get going. Take care of yourself. And your heart. Take care of your heart too.” And he’s off like a shot.  
  
Sehun scarcely makes it to his first class when he realizes the short kid had been speaking banmal in the end.   
  
/  
  
“Sehun-ah, why don’t you hang out with hyung anymore?” Tao flings himself at Sehun’s back. Tao barely qualifies as a hyung these days, not when he ends up repeating an entire school year for fucking off to god knows where in China for the past six months, and not when he’s the most babied baby by their Joonmyeon-hyung in their own little dance club. But Joonmyeon-hyung already graduated this past term and apparently the only other way to avoid Baekhyun and his terrorizing ways is to cling like clingwrap to the maknaes.  
  
“Girlfriend.” Jongin munches through a potato chip, lying belly down on the hardwood floors of their club room/practice room. Sehun would be punching his face if it had been the right side up. Anyway, he’s in a hurry.  
  
“Family dinner.” Sehun says to Chanyeol as he makes his way to the doors.   
  
“I thought you hated your mother’s cooking?” Chanyeol says.  
  
“Forgot to tell her to order in. I’ll be leaving first, hyung.”   
  
He gets home in record time despite the slight traffic and gets laughed at by his mother as a reward. Inquiring about the source of tonight’s food is a valid concern, especially when you don’t want your guests to end up in the hospital.  
  
“I ordered take-out, you ungrateful kid. Now go pretty up yourself in your room before the guests arrive. You don’t want to disappoint your mother, do you?”  
  
“What’s up with your mood today?” Sehun says. Still he goes up to his room to change, and hears the soft murmurs from the living room which he figures is either the take-out or their guests making an entrance.  
  
Mrs. Kim seems unchanged for someone Sehun hasn’t seen in a decade.   
  
“Oh! Is this our little Sehun? Stop standing over there like a statue and come and greet your auntie.” He shuffles awkwardly in her direction, greets her properly, and takes in her warm brown eyes in a kind of shell-shocked daze. The last time he’d seen her he had a mess of snot and tears up his face, refusing to eat her specialty pudding because he was beyond consolable at the news of them leaving the country, of his favorite hyung leaving him.  
  
“I’m afraid he’s not so little anymore, unnie.” Sehun’s mother raises an eyebrow at him, so maybe he’s acting a little weirder than usual. “You know how boys grow up so fast.”  
  
“I know! I know! Mine’s already in university. I can scarcely believe it.” Mrs. Kim seats herself in their couch and without much deliberation, Sehun sits beside her despite his mom’s subtle glares. University. If Sehun’s counting right hyung would be the one in uni now.  
  
“Is hyung-“ He stops. Having the full force of Mrs. Kim’s attention is disconcerting by how amused she is at everything. Like she knows why Sehun is acting all of five years old again and he resists the urge to wipe his nose on his sleeve. “Where does hyung study?”  
  
“Unnie, don’t tell me he’s studying here?“ Sehun’s mom comes back with tea and seems to be much faster at the uptake than Sehun is at the moment. All he hears is the buzzing behind his ears. “Are you staying back here for good? That’s great news!”  
  
Sehun bolts up from his seat. He vaguely hears the door buzzing out front or some other outside noise. It’s probably the food this time. Yes. He needs to get that before it becomes painfully obvious that he’s vibrating out of his skin. Hyung is here. They’re back. They’re staying.  
  
“Hello, is this the Oh residence?” It doesn’t look like a delivery boy. It looks (and talks and moves) like the kid from this morning – long-sleeved shirt and messenger bag and face sweaty and red as an apple like he’d gone through hell and high water to get here on time. Which is just like his hyung, really. At least what Sehun thinks he’ll be like.  
  
“Did you run all the way up here?”   
  
“Yes, I did. I did make a run for it.” He shakes the bangs out of his eyes and the movement sparks something warm and nostalgic in Sehun’s chest.  
  
“You’re the kid from the train, right? I’m sorry, I seem to have gotten the wrong address.”  
  
“No, you got it right.” Sehun’s taller than him. Broader in the shoulders. The universe is playing tricks on them and Sehun just treated his hyung like a cute kid this morning and he’ll never ever live that down. “Come on in, Minseok-hyung.”  
  
/  
  
The dinner is not awkward at all. Nope.  
  
“So what are you studying?” Sehun’s mom starts after a flurry of conversation with Mrs. Kim. Sehun refused to meet anyone’s eyes and the last time hyung spoke it was to greet everyone and apologize.  
  
“Architecture.” Minseok goes back to his plate of pasta, chewing carefully like a woodland animal. There’s a long line of stuff Sehun wants to ask: if hyung dislikes pasta, if some of the teasing had gotten to him that he lost all that weight, if he ever dreamed of becoming an architect even back then when they were kids.   
  
Is he really staying?  
  
“Sehun-ah?” Mrs. Kim turns to him.  
  
Sehun shrugs, “I’m still in high school.” He feels like swallowing his own tongue.  
  
After dinner Sehun stays behind to clean up and wash.  
  
“You hate doing the dishes.” Sehun’s mom says.  
  
“I hate doing anything. I’ll take care of these. Go and catch up with Mrs. Kim. I know you’ve been dying to know what she thinks about your home decoration skills.” He gets thwapped in the head for his insolence, which is better than telling her he’s avoiding someone in the living room. It’s a moot point anyway when Minseok comes into the kitchen in search for a glass of water.  
  
“Here, hyung.” For a moment their fingers brush against each other. Hyung’s hand is smaller compared to Sehun’s. It’s disconcerting.   
  
Minseok takes a deep drink and Sehun doesn’t notice he has stopped to watch him until Minseok says, “I was expecting someone taller, is what you’re thinking, am I right?” and Sehun almost chokes on his own spit.  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“It’s okay.” Minseok takes his own glass to the sink, takes the plate from Sehun’s hands, and continues from where Sehun left off washing the suds off the dishes. “If I’d known you grew this much I would have worn my insoles. Or my stilts.”  
  
I don’t know what I was expecting, is what Sehun’s really thinking, but what Minseok said is less embarrassing and less dramatic.   
  
“Sorry.” Sehun repeats when the silence has grown heavy and uncomfortable for him. Sorry about this morning, sorry for not writing back ever, sorry for not returning your calls. He feels five years old again for all the wrong reasons. But Minseok doesn’t say anything back, silently doing the rest of the dishes, and maybe it’s okay, they’re still okay.   
  
/  
  
The next morning Sehun wakes up extra early again, leaves home half an hour before his usual time, and catches sight of Minseok on the platform. He runs up to him before he has any other thoughts and something uncoils from the pit of his stomach as Minseok finally sees him and smiles, small white teeth showing.  
  
“Hey. You’re up early.”  
  
“I’m on time. Is that middle schooler fashion?”   
  
Minseok has a beanie on and a slightly oversized shirt. He doesn’t actually look like a middle schooler but the way he moues his mouth is almost unfair; it’s like he’s better at aegyo than Sehun and he doesn’t even make an effort.  
  
“I miss having a uniform.” Minseok says as the train pulls up into the platform. It isn’t as crowded as the last time but they stand near the doors anyway, elbows touching. When they pass by the stop with the lipstick ad again, Sehun shuts his eyes on instinct, opens them again when he feels a tug on his arm, feels the tight grip on his right hand.  
  
“Seriously, Sehunnie, you haven’t changed. Still a crybaby.”   
  
“I’m not.” Sehun blinks. He accepts the tissue Minseok hands him anyway, and it’s the farthest thing from a delicious cup of free ice cream but he’s feeling infinitely better already.

**Author's Note:**

> written for the worldcupexo event back in 2014 over at exomeme


End file.
